At present, the Holy Land has not yet opened, so Grace Turner cannot enter, nor can she see Brian Clark, who is imprisoned in the great prison.

She wondered, after being accustomed to his lofty position as the Heavenly Emperor, and having come to regard the lives of all beings as insignificant, how would Brian Clark feel now that his fate was once again being controlled and toyed with by others?

This time, even if Adam Harris could save him, in Chishui, where evil is hated with a passion, what kind of cultivation or attention could Brian Clark possibly receive?

Even if Adam Harris wanted to help him again, how could he do so?

Would he give up his own position as Holy Son for him?

Chapter 5

On the second day after moving into Shanhai City, the weather in the city changed abruptly. The temperature, which had already shown signs of spring, suddenly dropped. A drizzling night rain lasted until morning, leaving a thin layer of frost on the flowers and leaves. People going out to shop in the streets and alleys wrapped themselves once again in thick coats.

Unlike the nights filled with indulgence and revelry, the West Pavilion during the day was reserved for refined scholars sipping tea. Most of the time, it was quiet, with only the occasional hushed conversation drifting out.

Since returning that night, Grace Turner had not left her room, focusing on healing her injuries.

This body had suffered minor wounds during the encounter with the wolf demon. In the past few days, her mind had been clouded with doubts, and she had been busy traveling, so she hadn’t taken the time to carefully check her physical condition.

It wasn’t until she met the equally perplexed Adam Harris last night that Grace Turner realized she could not go back—at least not in the short term.

She accepted this quickly, without much panic or unease.

From any perspective, compared to Brian Clark, who was barely surviving in the Xihe Prison, she was undoubtedly in a position of absolute advantage.

But starting over, the challenges before her were far more than just the matter of the tribunal.

She was the eldest daughter of Yedu, born with a cool and aloof temperament, not fond of crowds, unlike other noble girls of her generation who loved novel and beautiful things. Most of her time was spent studying spirit arrays and handling Yedu’s affairs. Aside from that, she would go out to capture troublesome demons and monsters.

Year after year, day after day.

Before anything else, she needed to ensure her own physical condition.

This time, the injuries were not serious. After taking a few restorative pills, the chaotic energy within Grace Turner gradually calmed down.

By the time she left her room, the Praying Wind Festival in Shanhai City had already passed, and only a few hours remained before the Holy Land would open.

Laura Reed was in the outer corridor, softly confirming the details of entering the Holy Land with someone, going over everything again and again for fear of missing anything. As a member of the demon race, she had no identity token and was not qualified to enter the Xihe Holy Land with Grace Turner.

Evelyn Ward tiptoed into the room, her signature oval face flushed with nervousness. When she looked at Grace Turner, her dark pupils narrowed into thin slits, but she was better than last time—at least she didn’t lose control and reveal her little cat ears.

“Miss,” the little demon said meekly, “a reply from Yedu arrived this morning.”

Grace Turner was holding a scroll of ancient, incomplete array diagrams. At these words, her eyes flickered. After a moment, she looked up, set the bamboo scroll aside, and asked, “What does it say?”

Evelyn Ward immediately perked up, and after stumbling at first, gradually spoke more smoothly: “Lord Ryan Cooper sent a letter, saying that they checked the Yedu prison overnight and found no tea spirit imprisoned there.”

“My lord said that little demons who become spirits from flowers, plants, and trees are generally kind-hearted and rarely harbor ill intentions. Even if they cause trouble, it’s usually minor, so after being disciplined, they are not kept in prison but sent to the mountains to do chores.” Evelyn Ward repeated almost word for word what she had memorized from Ryan Cooper over the past two days: “My lord also said she personally went to the mountains to check. There were indeed a few tea spirits who had caused trouble, but none who practiced cultivation arts. They were all ignorant, mischievous little rascals—not even of age yet.”

Grace Turner was not surprised by this result.

Over the past thousand years, countless demons and ghosts had come and gone from the Yedu prison. A tea spirit who practiced cultivation, if they hadn’t committed any serious crimes, would never have been imprisoned for so long.

Even if something major had happened, Grace Turner, who was in charge of such matters, would have learned the details from her subordinates’ reports.

But she had no recollection at all.

This proved that the little tea spirit must have been caught for an offense later on.

Grace Turner’s slender fingers moved slightly as she gave a low response, her gaze falling on the little demon standing stiffly a few steps away.

She often acted alone and disliked being surrounded by a crowd every time she went out—partly because it was noisy, and partly because it was inconvenient for her work. She had only brought Evelyn Ward along in the first place because she was in a hurry and had no time to settle this inexperienced and timid little cat demon.

A thousand years ago, after the tribunal opened, Evelyn Ward was placed by her in a small sect affiliated with Yedu.

She was simply too busy. By the time she remembered to check in, Evelyn Ward’s name was already gone from the sect’s roster.

At the time, she simply took the roster and carefully scanned it from beginning to end. After reading it, she was silent for a while, but did not ask anything.

Asking would have been pointless.

No one knew better than Grace Turner how xenophobic the human race could be.

She could not save so many people, nor could she change such deeply rooted beliefs by herself. The more she said, the more she asked, the more she felt herself trapped in a state of helplessness.